


Death Note: Friends With Benefits

by TowerofBabel



Series: Death Note Chronologies [6]
Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Death Note Spoilers, Drinking, F/M, Fast Cars, Friends With Benefits, Hotel Sex, Jazz - Freeform, Note Blue Jazz Club, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Sex, Smoking After Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wammy House, annual tradition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowerofBabel/pseuds/TowerofBabel
Summary: How did the SPK and Mello first learn of Kira/Light Yagami? It wasn’t from Near, it was from an inadvertent clue given to them by one of Kira’s cohorts. Matt and Amane are ‘Friends With Benefits’ and have had had a secret relationship for years without anyone knowing. After an evening together, Misa tells Matt a secret that may turn the tide in the fight against Kira. (Story happens within the 3rd year of Kira's Reign).
Relationships: Amane Misa/Matt | Mail Jeevas, Amane Misa/Yagami Light
Series: Death Note Chronologies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737532
Kudos: 5





	Death Note: Friends With Benefits

This story takes place sometime within the 3rd Year of Kira's Reign.

* * *

_Aoyama, Japan…_

Mail Jeevas parked his modified 1968 Red Chevrolet Camaro on the street and stepped out. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, but then dropped it and crushed it beneath his boot. He wore a cream-coloured, sleeveless vest with fur trim, but he took that off and put it in the trunk, along with a pair of ruby tinted goggles. He wore a long-sleeved horizontal black and red stripped shirt, but took a mental step back and thought about how ostentatious it may look inside the Note Blue Jazz Club and covered it up with a simple black leather jacket he had in the back seat.

The place was jamming and he could hear the music thumping from the street. To those who knew him, he liked video games, but what they didn't know was he also liked music and all the benefits that came with it. Jazz wasn't his most favourite, but it was one of a girl he knew—a girl who had invited him to this club tonight.

The bouncer was a big, black man, with jewelry on his knuckles and around his neck, and a big muscular chest. All he needed was a mohawk and he would be the lookalike of an '80's television actor. There was a line-up down the street roped off for guests. With the long line up, the club was no doubt full. But he had an in and thanks to the girl he was going to meet inside, all it took was a special password and he was let without incident. In passing, he remarked about the bouncer's look and told him he was part of an "A-Team". The bouncer eyed him with incredulity and almost didn't let him. Maybe it wasn't the first time he had been mocked about his appearance looking like Mr. T.?

The moment Mail entered the jazz club, he smiled with its amazing sights and sounds. Its blue, neon flashy lighting, large rotunda structure, with multi-faceted tiers of barricaded platforms, mini-bar, standing room only, a massive gloss dancing floor, currently filled with guests, and a grandiose stage for the performers with sound wolfers sending out its music in every direction, hip and happening, fast and furious—with lots of other lovely things to look at, namely girls in tight clothing. And as he stood where he was, he saw a gorgeous waitress with a short skirt and a very tight shirt that said NOTE BLUE across her breasts pass by him carrying an order for someone on the other side of the room.

But he wasn't here to dance or hook up with someone, he was here to meet someone he knew, the girl who had invited him, and he looked around, through waves of dancers, towards the wall booths, and there, he saw a single girl sitting alone nursing a drink. She wore a dark, green coat, and a dark fedora hat, with what looked like dark wig. Prudent, seeing how famous she was. If anyone knew who she really was, she would be swarmed with hungry fans.

Mail maneuvered through the crowd and made his way to the booth, and took a seat next to her, forward in his approach. He was never shy around women. "Is this seat taken?" he said with a smile.

She looked at him and stared penetratingly into his deep blue eyes—or it could have been the blue neon—and returned the smile, then gave him a peck on the cheek. "Glad you could make it, Mail," she said, pronouncing his name as 'Mile' and not 'Mail', like a letter, but written as such. "But I didn't know it would be this crowded tonight. Do you want a drink? They don't serve minors, they check IDs, but I told the bouncer you were 'old enough', he's a friend of mine. I can order you anything, they've already seen my ID. My fake one, that is."

Mail looked at her glass. She looked to be drinking tomato juice with Vodka with a celery stick. He thought about it, and he could use a drink, but then decided against it—he had brought his car. Drinking and driving was illegal in Japan. He said no. He looked around at the bustling crowd and began to feel a little claustrophobic. He didn't like crowds, they made him nervous. And she noticed it.

"You want to get out here, Mail? I forgot you don't like large crowds. You're more of an introvert."

"Yeah," he said, "and you know why." It was an understanding between them that the reason he didn't like large crowds was because of his childhood, he was always in one with a group—an orphan amongst many. "I only agreed to meet you here because you enjoy Jazz. I don't mind it, but…"

"Okay," she said, and they both pushed out from the booth.

Minutes later, they were outside on the street. The bouncer looked at Mail strangely and he noticed it. He smiled at the big man, and said, as he opened the passenger door for his date, who got into his Camaro, "I love it when a plan comes together," referring to the old TV show he mentioned earlier. The bouncer gave him another incredulous look.

She rolled down the manual window and smiled at the bouncer. "Thank you, Tyron," she said.

"Anytime, MA," he said back.

"Seriously?" said Mail. "You're actually Mr. T?"

"I pity the fool who calls me that!" And he smiled with several gold teeth. "See you again," he then said to her.

"Until next time," she replied, and then rolled up the window.

Mail got into the driver's side and turned the key that he plucked out of his right pants pocket with a rabbits foot attached—a lucky superstition. The car let out a large rumble before he drove off down the street into traffic. "The guy has a fortune in his mouth," he said. "How long have you been going to the Note Blue Jazz Club?"

"For a couple of years," she said. "Tyron knows me quite well and he knows how to keep a secret."

She took off her fedora and dark wig revealing blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders. She straightened her hair, even combed her fingers through it, whisking it in the air. A small strain touched Mail's face, which he wiggled his nose—to avoid sneezing. He loved her hair. There was just something about blondes that drove him wild. Contextually, blondes were often the butt of jokes—'dumb blondes'—but he never thought of her as dumb. She was intelligent and right up his alley, even though she did portray a ditzy persona in public. But that was part of her charm. She was an actress and a very famous one, hence the disguise in the club.

Parking outside a ritzy hotel on the street, she gave him a curious stare. "This is where you brought me?" She was surprised and shocked. "Last time, you took me to a sleazy hotel."

He smiled, and said, "A castle for her highness, and a white rose" —he reached into the back in a brown paper bag and gave her a single flower— "for the stay." She took it and smelled the flower. "Yeah, I know—every time. But why break tradition? I stopped off at a florist before I met you at the jazz club. I'm glad one was open this last at night. And I brought you here—this time—because I can afford it. You've always deserved better. And now, I can give it to you."

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Before you 'give it to me', right?" she joked.

She put on her wig again with fedora hat, so she would not be recognized for obvious reasons, and the pair stepped out, to the front entrance of the STARLITE HOTEL. He handed the keys over to a young man in a red valet's uniform to park the car with a fifty dollar bill. Mail told him there was more where that came from if the car was brought back in prime condition—the valet looked at the 1968 red Camaro with wonderment. Mail knew the exact odometer reading. If it went over a certain amount, there would be hell to pay if someone decided to joyrode in it.

The valet got into the car and drove off and into an underground parking lot next to the hotel, as Mail and his significant other entered—the from glass doors sliding back. He went to the desk and picked up the keys to his suite. The room was expensive even for a one night stay, but it was worth it for their annual tradition. For years, they had gotten together, and neither one would miss it. Even if it was just to shoot the breeze. They had known each other for quite some time and the moment Mail opened the door to the suite, she stood in awe at the luxurious decor.

"Oh, Mail!" And she hugged him. "I love it!"

They spared no time and got down to it, pulling each others' clothes off.

For an hour they were on each other, a sweaty-wild ride of passion, and even knocked few things over, having a fews laughs as a result, as they moved through the suite. It would all be on the bill at the end of the night. But Mail could afford it. He had resources and he was rich after receiving a large inheritance from a friend who had died. At first, he spent a lot of money on gaming systems and played to his hearts content, but then he got bored. But one thing that never got bored of in his life was her. And he would never give her for anything in the world. Their relationship wasn't empty—they knew exactly what it was all about and they accept it as it.

Physically drained, Mail lay on the bed of white silk sheets, completely exposed, his heart racing, and his hair soaked, while his lover covered herself next to him, breathing hard, her hair drenched. He lit a cigarette, holding it with his left hand. There was a no smoking policy in the hotel, but he didn't care, and he used a crystal glass for an ashtray. He leaned up against the back bedrest and let out a puff of smoke. He smoked to relax, but after what they had just done, he smoked to calm himself after the rigorous activity. He waved the smoke away from his lady friend.

"We can't let anyone know about this or the media will go into a frenzy," she said.

"Chill," Mail said, taking a puff and then exhaling. He waved a hand again, so the smoke would not reach her. But she cough anyway and he apologized. He then brushed back a strand of his reddish-brown hair that had fallen over his face. "We've known each other for years and you've already told me you have a boyfriend. When I found out, I was…I thought our annual rendezvous would stop. But I was glad to get your call yesterday."

"I love my boyfriend, but he isn't exactly the affectionate type," she said sadly. "He kind of ignores me, to be honest. But, there are extenuating circumstances why we're together…" Her voiced trailed off.

"Is he gay? Is it just for show? 'Cos if he's not interested in a sexy and witty girl like you, then he might as well come out of the closest." She smiled at his words. "You told me about him and he sounds like a stuck up dick. You said, you even gave him a manicure once and at his request. Now, tell me that doesn't sound fagish?"

"Mail, don't say bad things like that," she scolded. "He's very intelligent, and he wants the world, figuratively speaking." She rolled her eyes. "We do, on occasion, do it. But he has a difficult time with it, almost like I disgust him."

"He's a homo, dump him. Let him get his thrills with someone else. You need a guy who'll give you the world. Who'd risk life and limp to protect you…" He cleared his throat. "Do you remember when we first met, Mimi?"

She smiled. "I love it when you call me that little nickname," she said. "And I do. It was when I was shooting a commercial in Winchester, England, and the location the director chose just happened to be the Wammy House orphanage where you were living at the time. I was fourteen at the time and you were—a lot younger. But later, when we became 'friends with benefits' you said you had fallen head over heels in love with me at first sight. You're seventeen now and—I'm older. Do you feel the same way or is sex all we have?"

Mail leaned over and cupped Mimi's face. "You know that's not true," he said, although another part of his body said otherwise. He covered his lower half. "Sorry, you're so gorgeous. You drive me wild. But my work—now—takes me into dangerous territory. I'm helping out a friend with something in Japan right now. Surveillance, cloak and dagger stuff, secret-secret spy stuff. Stuff that uses a lot of computer hardware and important software."

Mimi smirked. "Are you pirating some new gaming software? Don't lie to me. Japan is the capital of the gaming world, after all. I know you, you love playing games. Last year, there was a news story about a hacker who stole a new game in development from a prominent games company. The police went after the person, but he eluded them using some very sophisticated anti-tracking software and you're a super techy person. I knew it was you."

Mail smiled. "Guilty, but never charged," he said. "What gave me away?"

"The name you used: 'Hydra'. You love your superhero movies."

Mail chuckled and extinguished his cigarette. He moved over and kissed her. Mimi didn't resist, even when he reached down under the covers and touched her between her legs, she didn't stop him—she gasped. "You like my probing digits, Misa," he said with a devilish smile, saying her real name. She gasped again as he used two fingers now to open her up wide. "You always have enjoyed excitement, my little goth-girl."

She stopped him, grabbed his arm, even at the point of a burst of sexual elation. "I should get back," she swallowed, breathing heavier, "my boyfriend will be expecting me. We don't have time—"

"He can wait; I've rented the suite for the whole night," Mail said. "And I even pre-ordered room service for later. They thought it was strange when I ordered a jar of honey and a can of whipped cream, but money buys silence." Mail continued to probe her and Misa's mouth went fully agape. "You've told me your BF's a user, and he's in law enforcement, right? Most cops are narcissist assholes compensating with their guns. He probably has a small dick."

She let out a squeak as he pushed in deeper. "Not Light…he has…"

"Ah, we finally have a name," Mail said. "Let's see what other information I can probe out of you." Misa cried out. "Does he work for the National Police Agency?" She nodded. "What does he look like? Handsome like me or do you prefer the nerdy dork types for variety?" He chuckled.

"He's tall, handsome, also a bit of a nerd—and he works with the Kira Task Force."

Mail stopped. He pulled his fingers out. Misa looked down in confusion. "Mail?" she breathed out.

"Kira?" Mail said seriously. "He's working with the Kira Task Force?"

Misa swallowed, her eyes gazed over. She wanted more. "I'm sorry, I wasn't supposed to say anything," she said.

Mail leaned back with an arm behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling in thought, pulling the covers up a bit more. He had gotten soft, suddenly no longer in the mood.

"What's the matter, Mail? Why did you stop? You've gone pensive."

"Just thinking," he said, then sat up. He reached down and picked up a pair of jockeys from the floor and slipped them on, then his pants. "I need to make a call. It's important."

Misa leaned over to the other side of the bed and grabbed his left hand. "Please don't tell anyone," she said with a little bit of hysteria. "No one can know…"

"That your BF is working with the cops on the task force to catch Kira?" said Mail. "Why would that concern me?" But, in truth, it did. It concerned him greatly. This was supposed to be a night of fun and an annual tradition with a girl he had known for years, not of information gathering. But he had no idea that Misa Amane would know anything about the Kira Task Force, especially someone who was working on it. "Thanks, Misa," he then said, turning with a fake smile on his face, "I really enjoyed our time tonight this year. We'll catch up again next year." He picked up his pants from the floor, but left his stripped shirt. He passed a tall standing mirror and looked at a large scar he had on his chest. He had gotten it from someone who tried to kill him once and he nearly escaped with his life.

"But what about the suite? It's rented until morning? Room service?"

"You did say you had to get back to your boyfriend, right?" He shrugged. "So, we both have to go now. The suite's been paid up, so if you want, you can call your boyfriend to enjoy it for the rest of the evening? But that wouldn't look kosher, would it? Seeing you came up with me? You'd look like a slutty call girl."

Misa frowned. "You're being mean, Mail," she said. "Come back to bed. I'll stay. I'll tell Light I'm busy tonight with an extended commercial shoot or something. He won't mind. He rather enjoys being alone with his work."

Mail collected his leather jacket and zipped it up. He tossed his shirt to Misa. "Here, a momento of our time together this year, albeit short," he said callously. "You always said you liked it. I have another one."

"So, that's it? Wham, bam, and thanks for the sex?"

"This year," he said. He leaned over the bed and then kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Misa, I really am. But something important has come up and I really need to go. Something vital and it can't wait. And I seemed to have misplaced my phone. I think it's in the car. I hope that valet didn't steal it?"

He slipped on his boots, and went for the bedroom door, and then felt the smack of his shirt against the back of his head. "Bastard!"

He didn't pick it up, ignored her angry vent, and left.

Once out in the hall, after he left the suite, he reached for his phone in his back pocket. He had lied to Misa about it. When he got to the elevator, he dialled. Someone picked up. "Hey, it's me," he said. "I think I have some interesting intel. And it's about Kira."

He then went on and told his contact everything Misa had had told him. The group he belonged to had needed information about Kira to seek revenge against the bastard who murdered L, but they had very little go on when they started—only that Kira began his killings in the Kanto Region of Japan.

They knew L was in contact with Kira, but no one knew anything about Kira's identity—only that it may have been one of the Kira Task Force. All of L's data had been wiped out.

Now, they had something to go on, a possible lead—a first name, at least—and a way to proceed.

END


End file.
